


The Name is the Mark

by hisfoolishgirl



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Female!Merlin, Gender Issues, Immortal Merlin, Lets just call them a coin - eh?, Lots of things are implied in this, Other, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Who know what sort of soulmates these two are, Ya can buy what you want from it that way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 08:05:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15432633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisfoolishgirl/pseuds/hisfoolishgirl
Summary: His father saw his arm once. He saw the words Warlock and Monster, “At least your soulmate has sense enough to hate themselves. I trust you know what to do if you should ever see them.”Arthur had always feared that, finally meeting the one that the fates said would complete him. Feared the fact that the fates had decided that he could love one that was dedicated over to the wicked craft.Hearing his father’s words paused him. Perhaps they only hurt his love because she knew they weren’t the truth of who she was.- - -To have a soulmark was to carry the vilest things that your soulmate believed about themself on your skin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have tried so many times to write a soulmate/soul mark au that I actually didn't completely hate. This has managed that. 
> 
> Any errors are completely my own.

The first name that appeared on Arthur's arm was _Whore’s Daughter_. That was the first name that marred its it's way onto his soul mate’s heart. He kept it wrapped and hidden away. He was torn if it was shame that drove his action as a  prince had no right to love or if it was to protect her dignity in the only weak way he could.

 

* * *

 

The second mark was tightly woven around the last and just as quickly covered. But the reason he had for covering it was much clearer as prince of Camelot.

The second name that marred his lover’s heart was that of _Warlock_.

It was a small mercy that soul mark's were only composed of insults. It was a lie. A slur.

Arthur could never love a witch.

 

* * *

 

The third marred his skin a week later. He didn't know what to make of it.

_Emrys._

 

* * *

 

The fourth was _Bitch_. At least he knew what that meant. It was alarming the rate she was cursed at - and alarming that she believed in the words.  He was barely 16.

 

* * *

 

It was by the fifth mark - _Freak -_ that Arthur realized that his lover wouldn't know that she had a soul mate. No one cursed at him. No one called him names that he hated or scarred him. She was blemish free.

Within the hour _Monster_ was newly added to the tight circle, and it repeated itself into a tight circle around the first two mark's he’d gotten years ago.

It broke his heart that his lover could think such things about herself. Magic or not.

 

* * *

 

A week later he was in training with his knights when a new name added itself to his hand. _Myrddin._

Arthur frowned at it, and Leon simply smiled, “At least you have a lover out there,” he whispered, “Someone who’s going to complete you.”

Arthur had so many marks he had forgotten how rare a thing they were.

It was a painful thought. A fresh reminder that his mate thought herself a monster, believed herself worthy of being hated and despised their own name. For what else could Myrddin be? Or Emrys?

 

* * *

 

His father saw his arm once. He saw the words Warlock and Monster, “At least your soulmate has sense enough to hate themselves. I trust you know what to do if you should ever see them.”

Arthur had always feared that, finally meeting the one that the fates said would complete him. Feared the fact that the fates had decided that he could love one that was dedicated over to the wicked craft.

Hearing his father’s words paused him. Perhaps they only hurt his love because she knew they weren’t the truth of who she was.

Something must of lingered on his face, “I trust you know they’ll have to be killed, Arthur. You are the Prince of Camelot.”

It was the first time he had hated his title. The kingdom that his father was leaving him with. Still, he answered, “Yes, sire. Of course. I would never endanger Camelot. Not over love.”

If Uther stilled, watched his son carefully over that choice of words, then Arthur was too young and naive to notice.

 

* * *

 

It was later that week that a young man called out to him as he taunted a servant, “I think that’s enough now, friend.”

“Friend?” Arthur quipped, and he ignored the itch on his arm - under the circle of whispered monsters and far above a set of names that someone else hated to have. His soulmate could wait. He turned to the stranger, “Have we met before?”

The boy rubbed the back of his head, and he looked away from Arthur before thrusting his hand out, “Name’s Merlin.” _Myrddin might be read the same._

Arthur ignored the thought and the hand, “So no. I don’t know you. Yet you called me friend?”

“You’re right - I’d never be friends with a such a royal ass.”

Arthur squinted at Merlin, ignored the black lines that formed at Merlin’s exposed collar bone, “Quite the mouth on you. Do you know who you’re talking to?”

There was a weariness to the man’s face, “Not in the least,” He answered, “But do you?”

“Are you a prince as well?” Arthur smirked.

Merlin rolled his eyes, “Next you’ll be telling me your the prince of Camelot itself.”

“I am,” Arthur smirked.

He barely dodged the fist throne from Merlin. He had Merlin on his knees at that, “Now why’d you have to go and do that?” He asked, “We were having just such a lovely conversation.”

Merlin simply glared up at Arthur, but as the guards came to haul him away to the dungeons Merlin found his voice again, “Never wanted to serve a prat like you.”

It hurts. For the first time that he’s noticed, perhaps his soulmate will have him marring her skin as well.

 

* * *

 

Arthur didn’t think he’d see Merlin again, but he does. The man is standing beside Gaius. The new apprentice. No wonder he thought himself in service to Arthur. Merlin is going to be the one next to tend to the kingdom’s ills if appearance is to be believed.

That is until hours later Merlin has a career change, and Arthur a new life debt. He owes Merlin his life, and after a new itch he finds himself refusing to look at the newest name marring his skin. Too afraid it will read _servant_ like the last one had been _friend_.

It couldn’t be Merlin. Merlin who had somehow been awake while the rest of the hall fell into enchanted sleep.

Merlin spent the rest of the banquet hovering over Arthur’s shoulder with another servant instructing him of his newest duties.

“So what,” Merlin asked as he followed Arthur to outside his chambers, “What happens now?”

Arthur stared at Merlin, “You go to bed. I go to bed, Merlin. It’s really as simple as that.”

Merlin swallowed, “They said I was suppose to-”

“I have soul marks. No one but the king and my personal aides are aware. As such - it’s not necessary. I can ready myself for bed.”

“Oh,” Merlin looked to the side, “Well - Must be nice.”

Arthur snorted, “Good night, Merlin.”

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately, Arthur doesn’t sleep with gloves on. When Merlin wakes him, the servant’s gaze lingers on _Myrddin._ Arthur is quick to slip the gloves back on, and he’s careful with the long sleeved nightshirt to make sure it doesn’t ride up.

 

* * *

 

They’re out for a week hunting. Merlin doesn’t bathe with the knights. Arthur doesn’t say a thing. He doesn’t either. Not with his soulmarks. He didn’t think Merlin had any. Merlin’s comment, his longing for a soul mark, echoes in his ears, and he wonders if the servant’s marks are red then. If his love is now dead.

 

* * *

 

When Merlin drinks from the chalice, he ignores how light the boy is. He ignores Gaius’ pale face, and he ignores the fact that his marks are now the shade of red that almost looks black. He focuses on one thing. The morteous flower.

Until the blue orb flies in after Nimueh’s left him in the caves to die. Then he thinks of that, and he thinks of the fact that Merlin was poisoned because someone had tried to kill Arthur. Yet, he’s not fated to die by her hands.

The time in the dungeons alone provide with plenty of time to think, but it doesn’t matter. There’s hardly enough to think over. His hand trails over the first name he’d read on his skin. _Whore’s daughter._

His soulmate is a girl, and his manservant is exactly that. A man.

But what if this isn’t the first time someone’s tried to kill Merlin?

 

* * *

 

Gwen tells him about the enchantment on goblet. Just how close he’d been losing Merlin. He tries not to think about it. Maybe sometime he’ll believe that he has a chance at succeeding with that.

 

* * *

 

When Lancelot arrives to the court, and Merlin is in his shadows, Arthur looks at the crest presented. Then he turned to Merlin, “If you want him to be a knight then don’t go down this path.”

Merlin looks like someone walked over his grave. Lancelot as well, and something in his chest breaks. He sighs, and he pulls Lancelot to the side. To a side so private that it could only be described as Arthur’s private chambers.

“What do you know about Merlin?” He asks.

Lancelot turns to the window, “We’ve just met, sire.”

Arthur takes off his shirt. Every name that Merlin hates to have is on display “Lancelot.” He says. The man turns back to him, and he stares. He stares at _Warlock._ He stares at _Servant_ . He stares at _Monster._

“You already know.” Lancelot says simply.

Arthur nods, “Yes.”

“What are you going to do?”

Arthur shrugs, “That’s between the two of us.”

“You should tell him.”

Arthur glances at his forearm, and he reveals the one that’s hardest to see. The first one.

Lancelot stares at it. Panic filling his chest, “What?”

“I’m not telling. I don’t think it safe to.”

“What do you mean?”

Arthur shrugged, “Merlin’s nearly died too many times in Camelot. I doubt they’d have come here if that hadn’t been the case elsewhere.”

“You think Merlin’s enchanted?”

“I think it’s between the two of us.”

Lancelot nodded.

“I want more eyes on Merlin.” Arthur’s voice a small admission, “It’s not a knighthood, but Gaius needs an apprentice with Merlin promoted to the position of my manservant.”

“I am not much without my sword.”

“And I am not able to offer more. Not at this time, but the woods are dangerous. I’m sure we can find a spot for you to train with the knights - so you’ll be safe while gathering herbs.”

Lancelot bows in a moment, “As you wish, my liege.”

“Don’t tell, Merlin. I want the truth when it’s time for it to be given freely.”

 

* * *

 

 _Liege. Prat. Ass. Prince of Camelot._ She has to wonder sometimes what it means that she only has four marks for the hundreds she feels she’s given to him at this point in their lives.

She wonders if it’s safe to tell him. If he already knows.

In Ealdor, Will takes the claim for the magic she did. Arthur stares at her as if waiting for her to confirm it. She glances at their audience, “I knew Will. It’s as he said.” Is all she manages in the end.

Arthur’s gaze follows hers, and they both know it can never come out quite yet. Not to the rest of the world. But that night, when Arthur is on his shift to guard the camp. Ambrosius wakes, and she goes to him.

Since Nimueh’s first curse she had fallen into the habit of the rest of the village men. She’d slept with her shirt off until her promotion to being at the full time beck and call of her soul mate.

She slept with it off tonight though. So when she sits beside him, Arthur sees a man. Arthur sees his title on her collar bone, and the rest of their barbed insults running a list beneath it.

“You’re safe,” He whispers, “I don’t need answers.”

She nods, “They’ll come anyways.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“Because I love you.”

“How can you?”

“Because I doubt Camelot is any danger from your magic when it keeps happening to save my life - and the kingdom.”

She smirks, “That seems to be a well thought through answer.”

He smirks as well, “Good night, Merlin.”

“Ambrosius.” She corrects.

He watches her leave, and she sleeps for the first time in a long time without the fear of a pyre’s fire waiting for her when she awakes.


	2. Chapter 2

_ “Yes, sire. Of course. I would never endanger Camelot. Not over love.” _

_ “Because I doubt Camelot is any danger from your magic when it keeps happening to save my life - and the kingdom.” _

Arthur’s words echo through his head as he watches Merlin sleep. She’s approached him. She’s confirmed the unspoken, mutual truths between them. Arthur’s heart twists in his chest. His fingers run over the first name once more, as they’d been doing with frequency since the goblet, and then they run over the names  _ Myrddin  _ and  _ Emrys. _

The only matter he can’t stop thinking about is the fact that Ambrosius has never appeared on his skin.

 

* * *

 

It is when he shoots the Unicorn Arthur learns he’s gone to far. He disregarded Ambrosius’ words of warning in the attempt to bring home a prize to show his father that he wasn’t a traitor to his kingdom. In the bottom of his heart he knows that why he slayed the creature of magic. To show he had no allegiance to the sort despite what the fates mark on his skin.

As Ambrosius watches the lands struggle with a famine, Arthur struggles to prove himself worth despite spilling the blood of something so innocent. At night, he dreams that it’s not a unicorn he’s slain but Ambrosius. 

He always wakes in a sweat, gasping for breath, and when his father calls him Prince Arthur he wonders if that to is another mark on her skin.

 

* * *

 

He’s staring into Merlin’s eyes as they sit counter each other. She’s screaming at him with a voice so deep and desperate, “I’m suppose to die for you!” She insists over and over again.

He’s about to drink. He’s holding both goblets and his judge has her entrapped. “Why?” He asks because if he’s about to die then he wants to know why she’s still so loyal to him. 

Soulmates are allowed to hate each other, and he has only given her cause.

She stares at him, and he feels like he’s slapped her. He would never do such, “Because it’s my destiny. Because it’s yours to live. To be a great king.”

“How could be that if I let you die?”

She has no words. He’ll get no answer now, and so he throws both drinks back. One of them burns on the way down.

 

* * *

 

He wakes with Ambrosius craddling him. Her tears spill down on his face, “I didn’t think you’d cry over me.” His voice is a deep husk, and her hands touch his face. Rough callused hands of a man servant. He wonders if they’ve always been such, raised in a village as such, or if that’s just another thing that’s been forced on her. If that’s a burden he’s given her. He’s felt the hands of the ladies in the court. Soft every single one of them.

He’s never felt the hands of the maids. He’ll never know. 

As Arthur sits up, their eyes met, and they almost met each other in the middle. 

But, there is one too many things between them keeping them apart, and as such that’s never a shared moment between them. 

Ambrosius helps her prince stand, and together they return to the kingdom that Arthur tried to die to save. He only hopes that the Ambrosius in his dreams will forgive him. If he can forgive himself then maybe one day she’ll forgive him.

 

* * *

 

_ Murderer _ . It’s the name that sends Arthur down to Gaius’s chambers looking for Ambrosius the moment it arrives. 

Gaius doesn’t know where Merlin is, and after that night Morgana’s eyes gain a shadow that she can never shake from them.

 

* * *

 

Arthur is alone with Ambrosius, “There’s a new name…”

“I know.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you want to explain why your title is on my chest twice, Arthur?”

The silence between them is answer enough, and the void between them echoes with the fear in Arthur’s chest that he’ll never be good enough for her.

 

* * *

 

Arthur had asked Lancelot to keep an eye on Merlin for him. A twist in his chest follows as he watches the two of them jest together hours after his attempt to pull Ambrosius closer to him.

Later that week, he watches Merlin ignore Lancelot while tending to Arthur’s need during training. He pulls Lancelot aside, once more to his chambers for a private discussion on the same troublesome servant, “Did something happen between the two of you?”

Lancelot pales, “I don’t know. I merely teased him about the fact that Gwen’s gaze has been following him. I know the two of you have been growing distant, and I’m not suppose to know about… Merlin’s other secret.”

Arthur nods, “If she was going to be offended - then there’s no reason for her not to tell you the truth.”

Lancelot nodded, “I fear, I thought the same. It seems we were both wrong about the matter.”

“I fear that too, but I’m more scared of why. Why is she trying to keep herself so far from herself?”

“Maybe it’s what’s happened…”

“I’ll ask,” Arthur breathes, “Out of the two of us for her to hate the more - it’s better if it’s me.”

“Sire…”

 

* * *

 

Arthur goes hunting alone. In his father’s eyes. In his own, he is with Ambrosius. They ride in silence.

“There is a cave up ahead,” He says, “We’ll hunt at dawn. I want some distance from the castle and from my own peoples’ hunts.”

Ambrosius nods. She doesn’t speak. She’s always joked. Arthur had always wished for silence then. Now, he knows he’s always made the worst wishes. 

His father’s approval. Merlin’s silence. Not knowing how Ambrosius worked - what she wanted, what has happened to her or her magic.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t go in there,” Ambrosius whispers once they stand in the mouth of the cave.

Arthur raises an eyebrow at that, “It’s merely a cave,” He replies in an attempt to go back to their old pattern of banter, “Surely you’re not afaird of the dark?”

She swallows, but she follows.

 

* * *

 

The crystals in the cave enrapture her. Arthur can’t pull her gaze away from them. He fears that he’s known too little about her. 

He knows now that he’s absolutely never known enough about magic.

 

* * *

 

He’s holding her hand, desperate whispers for her attention, her forgiveness when Lancelot arrives. “It’s been three days,” The would be knight starts.

Arthur looks at him. Tears are trailing down his face, “I know.”

 

* * *

 

Lancelot leaves for Gaius. The moment he leaves is the moment she breaths again. She stares at Arthur, “Why didn’t you go with him?”

“And leave you alone?” It comes out numb. It’s better then screaming.

She blushes, and she looks away from him, “I know I’m not what you want.”

It’s vunerable, and it’s the truth from her. “I’m not what I want from myself,” He answers in exchange, without meaning to, “I can only hope to become what you want.”

She stares at him with eyes wider then the crystals around them, and in that moment Arthur does as he wished to so many moons ago. He leans in, and he goes past the middle because Ambrosius doesn’t know to meet him in the middle. 

Arthur’s lips met her where she is, and she kisses back.

 

* * *

 

They might not be able to met each other in the middle, but they met Lancelot midway on their return to Camelot.

 

* * *

That night, she is helping him get ready for bed. She’s pulling off his shirt so it can be replaced with his night one, and her hand slides over the newest name on him.  _ Murderer. _

“I killed a boy with magic because a dragon told me he’d be the one fated to kill you,” She whispers.

Arthur pulls her in for another kiss. She’s relucant and trembling. He pulls back for a breath. He wants to ask more about the boy, but he’s killed for the sake of the kingdom before. He knows that conversation will go no where. He asks a different one to distract her, “What did you see in the crystals?”

Tears burn down her face, “That no matter what I do, I’ll always fail you.”

Arthur pulls her back close. He seals off her words with a grasp of his own, “You’re not failing me now.”

It’s the first time he feels her hands on his face, and it’s the first time they fall into bed together.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, they’re both barely walking. Lancelot smirks at the sight of them, but no one else knows. No one else can ever guess at the magic that happened that evening.

 

* * *

 

She looks down at herself, and she for the first time since Nimueh’s curse - that first attempt on her life - she no longer cares at what she sees. She looks in the mirror and with a flicker of gold she sees herself in a new light.  She sees what Arthur sees. She see the promise of being made complete with the aid of another’s hands.


End file.
